Injury What Injury?
by Adegolas
Summary: Whilst out on a rescue John is seriously injured. He doesn't tell his family and he suffers the consequences when he becomes gravely ill.


The blaring of an alarm jolted John awake. He quickly peered over at his bedside clock.

02:47. 

He groaned as he pushed himself up before swinging his legs over to the side and stood. He staggered down the hall before he thumped heavily down the stairs towards the living room. He winced as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights in the room and he had to fumble around until he bumped into the sofa.

He noticed he was the last one to enter the room - since all the seats were taken - so he leaned against the back of the sofa and blearily gazed down at the two occupants currently sitting on it.

He was having a hard time trying to figure out who was sitting on the sofa until Scott and Virgil both tipped their heads back to look at him and Scott lifted an eyebrow, obviously noticing that John could hardly keep his eyes open.

John shook his head at Scott's silent question. He was fine, just a bit tired, that's all.

His father was sitting behind his desk, talking to his youngest brother who was up on Thunderbird 5 doing his rotation. From their expressions, it was apparently going to be a tough rescue.

"Go ahead, Alan", Jeff instructed.

"Right. We've just received a call about an earthquake in Argentina. Thirty-seven people are still missing, assumed to still be inside the town hall. The local services are managing with most of the damage and rescuing people, but paramedics and firefighters can't get into the building because its structure is so unstable. The people trapped inside can't get out and that's where we come in, to help move some of the bigger debris that otherwise can't be moved".

"Scott. I want you to leave straight away. Virgil, John, Gordon. I want you to load up Thunderbird 2 with the necessary equipment. Alan will brief you in more detail as you load Thunderbird 2, so you'll know exactly what to take", Jeff ordered.

"Yes sir", the boys chorused at the same time as they all scrambled to their feet, heading in different directions.

Jeff decided to quickly grab a cup of coffee, deducing that he would probably need it - whenever his boys went out on a rescue, he would continuously worry. He would only relax when they were home and he could see that they were safe - and by the time Jeff made it back to his desk, both Thunderbirds 1 and 2 were on their way.

The flight to the rescue site was short, just over an hour.

After they landed beside Thunderbird 1, Virgil and Gordon started to unload the excavator and the firefly from the pod in Thunderbird 2 and John headed over to Scott, who was just finishing setting up Mobile Control.

"What's the best way in?"

"If Virgil can move most of the larger pieces with the excavator, and then once we've ensured that the buildings structure is safe, Gordon can go in with the firefly to ensure there are no fires. By that point, we'll have our way in and out", Scott explained.

John just hummed. Time to get down to business.

Scott unrolled the blueprints of the building and assigned them all to different sections of the building, pointing out where they will be going on the blueprints.

Virgil was assigned to the front of building by the main entrance, incase his medical expertise were needed at any point. Gordon was assigned towards the back of building and John was allocated to the side near the blocked emergency exit. And Scott - of course - stayed with Mobile Control, and if he was required at any time, then screw protocol. His brothers were more important.

Once Scott had finished giving out his orders, Virgil cleared the entrance to the building with the excavator and Gordon extinguished the more serious fires with the firefly.

After they were done, the boys rushed to their assigned sections, hoping to find survivours.

John scrambled over the leftover debris littering the ground outside the main entrance and straightened up as his feet touched solid ground.

He switched his torch on and carefully tread his way around the large chunks of concrete and shards of glass. Careful not to disturb anything, lest he have a wall of concrete piled up on him. He had to squint through the darkness. The torch having hardly any effect with all the dust hanging in the air.

"Hello. International Rescue! We're here to help", he called out, but there was no reply.

Looking around the area, John realized that unless they were lucky enough to have found somewhere to hide, it was unlikely that anyone could have survived out in the open.

The prospect of finding survivours was slowly diminishing with every step he took.

He continued his search for several minutes, constantly calling out, hoping someone would hear him and reply to his call.

"Hello. International Rescue! We're here to help", he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Over here", a voice called out.

He swung the torch around, frantically trying to find out where the voice was coming from. He quickened his pace, attempting to pin-point their exact location.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found them. However, his relief was short lived. A large slab of concrete wall was blocking the doorway where a small collection of workers happened to be stuck behind. After attempting to move the wall, with no success, John admitted defeat and called for assistance.

"Gordon. Can you hear me?", he called into his watch.

"Loud and clear", a tiny voice replied.

"I need your help. I've located a group of workers, but they're trapped behind a wall. I need help moving it."

"Got it. Be there in a few minutes."

John breathed a sigh of relief when he caught a flash of red hair emerging from behind a tower of concrete a few minutes later. After warning the workers inside the confined space to move away from the doorway, the two manage to push the concrete wall away from the small opening. Together, they pulled the collection of workers out of the small space and patched up any of the seriously injured.

"I want to make sure that there was no-one left inside before continuing on with the search for survivours. You think you can manage them all?", John queried.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

John nodded and watched the small party leave before he slid through the opening to double check if anyone was left behind. Once he had circled the perimeter and found no-one, he slithered back out of the gap and continued on his way through the building in search of more survivours.

Nothing. 

With no sign of any more surviving workers, John doubled back, heading back towards the main entrance.

He was halfway back when John stopped in the middle of the clearing. He strained his hearing. He was sure he heard movement. Listening for any signs of further movement, he continued on more slowly.

There. He heard it again. But this time, he could make out the noise. It was an ominous creaking sound. It almost sounded like...

Before he could even finish the thought, John flung himself across the small space, narrowly missing being flattened by a large section of the ceiling that had fallen from above.

Panting, he struggled to his knees before standing up. He looked back to where he had just been standing seconds ago.

He looked back at the large expanse of debris and realized just how lucky he was. He doubted he would have survived if he had been a fraction of a second too late. Judging by the amount of concrete and thick steel girders that were sticking out of the mess, he would have been crushed and most likely skewered.

He shuddered at the thought.

As the adrenaline and the onslaught of emotions faded, John became aware of a dull ache in his right thigh.

He glanced down.

Through a tear in his trouser leg, John could see a long, ugly, jagged laceration running nearly half the length of his thigh. Blood was streaming down his leg - dyeing the fabric beneath the cut a deep red - and a steadily growing pool of blood was gathering on the ground beneath his feet.

John knew he had to get back to Thunderbird 2, somehow get into the medbay undetected and wrap the profusely bleeding wound as soon as possible.

Easier said than done.

Getting passed both Virgil and Scott - who admittedly were both busy - was like trying to sneak passed a sleeping tiger whilst bashing together a pair of cymbals.

It would be near impossible. But if he put his mind to it, John was sure he could do nearly anything. Even that.

John limped the rest of the way. Praying that none of his brothers would notice him and more specifically, the wound he was sporting on his thigh.

As he reached the entrance, he ducked behind a small column of debris and poked his head out from behind it to check that the way was clear of certain brothers.

He let out a sigh.

Clear. 

Getting past Virgil was fairly simple. All he had to do was make sure Virgil had his back to him and that he was concentrating on a patient and then make a run - or more like an awkward hobble - for it.

Getting last Scott. Now _that_ was an impossible task.

As it so happened, getting past Virgil was indeed simple. He was happily helping a patient.

John heaved a sigh of relief. The easy part was done. Now came the harder part. He crept around the side of the building and poked his head around the corner.

He couldn't believe his eyes. Scott had his back turned away and was helping the workers who could walk to walk towards a line of paramedics. Thanking his lucky stars, John quickly shuffled towards Thunderbird 2 and clambered aboard.

Once inside, he hobbled to the cockpit, gathered his spare suit and limping back down the corridor towards the infirmary. Opening the door, he slipped inside and started the long and arduous process of search for the supplies he would need.

Scissors. Check. Needle and thread. Check. Sterile gauze. Check. Saline solution. Check. Pain relief. Check.

After he gathered everything that he would need, John unzipped his suit and started to take it off. He grabbed the pair of scissors from the counter and cut the part of the trousers around the wound before slowly peeling the fabric down his leg, making sure not to rub it against the wound.

He swallowed thickly as he stared at the items he had assembled before him. He had never done this before. How hard could it be? Very, by the look of his shaking hands.

Before he could contemplate backtracking and calling Virgil, he plucked a packet of pain relievers from the shelf and popped two tablets out onto his hand. He swallowed them, along with half a glass of water. As soon as the pain lessened, he picked up a piece of sterile gauze, soaked it in the saline solution before dabbing it around the wound.

John gulped in lungfuls of breath in an attempt to lessen the shaking of his hands as he picked up the needle and thread. Every time he he tried to get the thread through the eye of the needle, he couldn't, not with how much his hands were shaking. Finally, he succeeded in threading the needle.

Somehow, he miraculously managed to stitch the wound closed.

He grasped the roll of sterile gauze and carefully wrapped it around the newly stitched wound. It was wrapped snugly around his thigh, so that it wouldn't fall down. To ensure that the gauze wouldn't unravel, he used a safety pin which he acquired from the draws lining the opposite wall.

All that was left to do now, was to figure out how he was going to get into his spare suit. It wasn't a simple task by any means.

John leaned back against the counter. He wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his hand. He could still feel his hands shaking, he felt like he had just run a marathon.

He knew he couldn't stay in the infirmary for long. If any of his brothers - especially Virgil - caught him, he would be grounded from going on any rescues for the rest of his life.

The minute he felt like he had enough energy in him, he staggered back down the corridor until he reached the door that led outside.

Thankfully, none of his brothers were directly outside. They were all gathered around Mobile Control, probably calling base and relaying that everything went smoothly and that they're all fine.

Well, nearly all fine. But what they don't know won't hurt them.

John crossed over to them, standing behind them to try to look like he had always been there.

A minute later, Gordon noticed him and did a double take.

"John? You alright?...", Gordon asked.

John nodded, not wishing to say anything in case his voice shook and gave him away.

"...you look a bit pale", Gordon continued, having attracted both his older brother's attention.

"I'm fine."

Gordon nodded slowly, not looking entirely convinced.

"Gordon's right though. You do look a little pale", Scott murmured. John just smiled, hoping it at least looked reassuring.

After Scott finished speaking with their father, he packed up Mobile Control.

"Well, there's nothing else we can do here. We'd may as well get back to base", Scott announced.

"FAB...", they all chorused, "...see you back at base", Virgil rumbled as they watched Scott climb aboard Thunderbird 1 as they were heading towards Thunderbird 2.

John slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He stifled a groan as they took off. He gritted his teeth as the pain in his thigh started to throb. He tried to act like nothing was wrong when Gordon turned in his chair and looked at him. He couldn't wait until they got home. He was dying to have a shower, but that would be impossible with the stitches. He would just have to settle with a wash.

He hadn't realized that half an hour had passed until they were approaching the island. He winced at the throb of pain in his thigh when Thunderbird 2 jerked as Virgil landed her and she was settled in her hangar once again. He sighed happily as the throb in his thigh dulled to an ache. When the pain was manageable, he heaved himself to his feet. He made sure to walk behind his two brothers, ensuring that they didn't see his slight limp.

The three of them stood next to each other as they took the lift up to the living area. After stepping out into the hallway, he followed after his brothers through the door into the living room. Limping all the way, even though he tried not to show it. He gingerly sat down on the sofa next to his older brother, trying to put as little pressure as possible on the area around the wound. For all he knew, the stitches could have come undone and the wound could have started to bleed again. He sincerely hoped not. But right now, anything was possible.

It was decided amongst them that they would leave the debrief until the morning, only because they were all practically asleep standing up.

John yawned as he rose stiffly from the sofa.

"You alright?", Scott questioned worriedly.

"Yeah. Just stiff", John partly lied. It was true that his leg was stiffening, but his thigh was starting to burn painfully now. The injury was much more worrisome than just a little bit of stiffness.

John hobbled towards the door, not noticing the concerned looks he was garnering from his gathered family behind him.

He stared at the stairs in front of him with resignation. He hadn't thought about how he was going to battle the stairs. He took one step at a time until finally, he got to the top. It felt like the stairs went on forever that John almost collapsed with relief when he finally did reach the top. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Somehow, the simple of task of climbing the stairs had left him breathless.

He staggered down the hall on shaky legs before stopping outside his bedroom door. He pushed open the door and stumbled inside. He closed the door behind him and leaned heavily on it. He felt so exhausted that the thought of washing was off putting. He just wanted to get his head on his pillow and sleep for a day. Wishful thinking.

Changing from his suit and into his pyjamas was a challenge. He looked down at the sterile gauze - which was still in place - before deciding that he would change it tomorrow.

The second his head hit his pillow, he was asleep. Someone could have been parading around his room banging on a drum and he wouldn't have awoken. He was sleeping so deeply that he didn't hear the knock at his door. Or when the door creaked opened ever so slowly and his father's head popped around the door. The concerned look on his father's face smoothed to a look of fondness. He crept into the room before sitting down on the edge of the bed, brushing his son's hair out of the way with his fingers. His forehead creased at the warmth emanating from his son's forehead, but it was probably because he was so tightly wrapped up in his duvet. After tucking the duvet more firmly around his son, Jeff stood up from the bed and tiptoed back to the door. He glanced back briefly before closing the door.

John woke up the next morning, feeling like he was steaming in a sauna. He felt so hot and his thigh was burning. He whimpered as the pain seemed to increase with every passing second. He swung his head to the side as he tried to remember what had happened. Why was he so hot and why was his leg in so much pain?

He didn't realize someone had entered the room until he felt someone's hand rest against his forehead. The cool sensation against his clammy skin was so devine that he couldn't help but lean into it. He attempted to open his eyes, but quickly closed them at the bright piercing light and grimaced. He tried to open his eyes a few more times. Finally he could open them fully, but everything seemed so fuzzy. It was like looking through murky water.

As something moved in the corner of his eye, he turned his head towards it.

Bad idea.

He groaned at the splintering pain in his head. It was a few minutes before the pain receded. When he blinked opened his eyes again, he tried to distinguish what the blurry coloured object was. Every now and then it seemed to move closer before moving away again. And soon afterwards, the blurry blob - or that's what it looked like - appeared to have multiplied.

He must have fallen asleep a while later because he doesn't remember much after that.

The next time he woke up, his vision was less blurry and he could see his surroundings better. Even though the room was darker than before. He tried to lift his head up to see out the window - only to discover that his curtains were drawn - and the pounding in his head testified that he had a perfectly good reason to still be in bed. He settled back down and turned his head slowly to observe the room. As he looked towards the door, he discovered his father sleeping in a chair that was pulled up to the side of the bed.

He cringed, looking at his father's posture. He was slumped to the side with his head resting on his chest and his right hand stretched out towards the bed, like as if he was attempting to hold John's hand. He was going to regret sleeping in that position in a chair when he woke up.

John tried moving his thigh, but the constant ache - which he only just noticed - intensified to a throbbing pulse. He groaned and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to abate.

He snapped then open again when he heard the chair beside him creaking. His father was awake and right now, he didn't look too happy as he stared down at John.

"What were you thinking?...", his father hissed angrily. "...it was only due to Virgil's quick thinking that you haven't had to have your leg amputated", he continued, his voice slowly raising. It wouldn't be long until he was shouting.

He just shrugged. It wasn't like there was much he could say anyway. 'I'm sorry' would have been ideal, but he didn't think his father would listen right now.

His father harrumphed and sat back down, clearly thinking along the same lines as he wasn't shouting the house down and waking everyone up in the process.

The awkward silence that followed was broken when Virgil quietly slipped into the room. He gave a visible start, obviously not expecting either of them to be awake.

"Hey, you're finally awake. How're you feeling?"

"Alright, I suppose", he muttered.

The look he was given by both his father and brother was uncomfortable. They both obviously didn't believe him and it was confirmed when they both voiced the fact. He managed to crack a smile at that.

"Well. The wound you somehow procured has become infected. You're on bedrest for the duration of the week, at the very least. So that means no rescues and no going up to Thunderbird 5 until it gets better. Understood?"

"Crystal", he grumbled. This was going to be absolute hell. And he was proven right.

The next half of the week moved by slowly. The highlights of it were the visits - which were admittedly often - by his brothers, father and of course his grandmother. He wasn't even allowed to lie on the sofa in the living room. He was confined to his bed. The worst was having to stay behind when his brothers went on rescues - he hardly went on any as it was because he was nearly always up on Thunderbird 5 - and then, when they came back, they would relay what had happened in detail. Which was happening right now.

He was sat up with his back leant against a mountain of pillows and listening with half an ear as his brothers continued to prattle on about the rescue. Something to do with an explosion at a gas plant.

God, he was so tired. Even though it had been a few days since the incident, his mind was still sluggish and he felt like his head was swimming around in a vat of treacle.

He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke with a start. Something was wrong, he couldn't quite tell what it was with his sleep addled mind.

His stomach gurgled ominously and he swallowed the saliva that was quickly collecting in his mouth. He tried to get up as realization dawned upon him, but his thigh surged with pain and he collapsed back onto the bed. He managed to pull himself up into a sitting position and made a grab for the small container of water that was sitting on his bedside cabinet.

He promptly emptied his stomach contents into it as he clutched it in his hands. He sobbed as his throat constricted again and he vomited into it once more. He was openly crying by the time his father raced into the room, looking like Hades himself was chasing after him.

"It's okay. Everything will be alright", his father murmured, running his hand up and down John's back soothingly. He relaxed, slumping into his father's side.

His father helped him to lie back down before he grabbed the container and flushed the contents down the toilet. He washed the container thoroughly and placed it back down on the bedside cabinet.

"Is he okay?", Gordon whispered from the doorway. Jeff turned around. He rolled his eyes at the appearance of his three sons, all crowded in the doorway.

"Give him some space and he'll be fin in no time... He's just a bit shaken", he responded. The boys nodded before slowly walking down the hallway towards the kitchen, probably about to raid the fridge. "...Scott...", Jeff called back, "...can you fetch a glass of water for me please".

Scott nodded his head and trundled after his brothers, heading towards the kitchen. A minute later and he returned with the glass.

John was sick two more times in the night before his stomach seemed to settle itself.

By the time the week was over, Virgil had given John the go ahead and he was now allowed to wander around the house unaccompanied. In a couple more days, Virgil would assess the progress in which his wound was healing and then decide whether he would be allowed to go out on rescues or not. He could only cross his fingers and hope. This past week had been anything but eventful and he was officially sick and tired of seeing his bedroom walls. He needed something to do before he went crazy.

And his form of entertainment - even though it wasn't funny at the time - came from Scott slipping in a puddle of water and crashing down onto the tiles surrounding the pool. The angle that he fell down at meant that his left arm bashed into the edge of the pool and looking at the state of his arm, John hazard a guess that Scott had broken it.

The howl that resonated after was enough to bring everyone rushing from all the corners of the island.

Virgil confirmed his theory to be correct, that Scott had broken his radical bone and that he was _'bloody lucky'_ it was a clean break. Virgil handed Scott a pain reliever along with a glass of water before wrapping his arm in a bandage and placing it in a sling. He was given strict instructions to keep his arm in the sling, day and night, and he was told he wouldn't be participating in any rescues anytime soon.

That night, Jeff made his usually rounds, making sure his boys were in bed and actually asleep. He entered Gordon's room first, seeing as it was the first door he came too and re-arranged his sons duvet, tucking it around his son's sprawled body. Next was Virgil, who was sleeping on his stomach with his duvet wrapped around his body, making him look like a human burrito. From there, he moved to John's room, pausing outside the door before pushing it open. John was sleeping on his side - as he usually did - with his duvet pooled at the bottom of his bed. Jeff picked it up and draped it over his son before leaving the room. Finally, he stopped outside Scott's bedroom. He stepped inside and walked up to his son's bed. He perched himself on the edge of it and stared down at his eldest son, brushing his fingers through his hair.

"You boys will be the death of me", Jeff whispered to himself, chuckling. He stood up from the bed, making sure his son was properly tucked under his duvet and headed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He headed down the hall to his own room and collapsed onto the bed.

"Keep an eye on them Lucy, they wouldn't last a day without you looking over them", he whispered before falling asleep himself.

THE END!


End file.
